Daemon-Child
by AnandaStarChild
Summary: The creation of the world as Lyra knew it.
1. Light-within-the-Darkness

Disclaimer: I do not own the girl that Aurora La'ana saw on the edge of the world, because she is Lyra and Philip Pullman owns her and since we are very obviously not married, I do not even own half of her

Disclaimer: I do not own the girl that Aurora La'ana saw on the edge of the world, because she is Lyra and Philip Pullman owns her and since we are very obviously not married, I do not even own half of her. I do, however, own Aurora La'ana, her daughter La'ana, and the goddess La'ana. MWAH HA HA HA HAH! I own the translation of the name Aurora La'ana, unless it is correct, in which case whoever said they mean Light-within-the-Darkness owns that. I do not own sealskin or furs, being vegan (GO PETA!), much less Aurora La'ana's sealskin and furs. I do not own the world. I do not own the end of the world. I do not own George W. Bush, thank the Goddess! and I thought I'd say that in case he's so stupid he thinks La'ana is him and decides to sue me. And no, Dubya, La'ana is not based on you. Yada, yada, yada, the end.

A/N: This is pretty much the beginning of the era in which Lyra lives. The Aurora is not yet created, and there are no dæmons. (WAAAAH!) The Church is probably just a tiny cult, if it is anything. La'ana may or may not be a real Goddess. Being Wiccan, I prefer to believe she is, but those who share Philip Pullman's view can believe differently. And yes, I do realize that the ending is not the best.

And so, now that all that legal and background shit (that's French, really!) is over with, the story!

***

These slivers of being burst through me, like so many shattered curtains of vibrant light. They mix and swirl, undulate, all within me and invisible but more real than anything else I've felt. I call myself _Aurora_, Light-within-the-Darkness. 

I was born with this bursting brilliance in me, yet it has never seemed mundane. Even as an infant, my eyes were black, black pools of night. In the pupils, strange lights gather, glitter. And so I was named La'ana Aurora, La'ana for the Goddess of Night and Aurora for the Light Within.

All my life, I have been drawn north, north towards these great empty expanses of ice and night. I found myself traveling north, away from all I had ever known and into this unfamiliar ground. I stopped, once, for a man for whom I bore a child, a tiny girl with hair like bright gold, but before the year had passed, the call of North became too strong and I took my daughter and left. It was not without tears, but I must grant you the truth. I was relieved. And I had my daughter, at least. I do not think I could have borne life without her.

She lies in my arms now, wrapped in sealskin and furs against the bitter cold. Bitter? Truthfully, it thrills me to the bones. And I have the sense that barely a few steps forward, just a few steps, waits my destiny, my fate.

And I am afraid.

Would you not be? For barely a yard in front of me, the earth ends. Or seems to, I do not know. The ice just _ends_ in a sheer drop. If I should fall... La'ana, my daughter, seems so small, so delicate. I am afraid, I am afraid, _I am afraid._ But I must walk, I must keep walking. She opens her eyes, wails piteously, and I realized that I am clutching her tight, too tight. But I can't make my arms loosen her, lest she plummet over the edge as my imagination sees myself doing, and she wails. And then I take a step forward, and another step, and suddenly all is still. Silent. Vast. The vastness stretches on and on, and I am at the edge of it, on the edge of this cliff that is the edge of the world. Something has captivated me. I know what I have come for. I know what I must do.

My arms work separate of my mind, setting La'ana down in front of me. I am not afraid anymore. She stands quietly, looking grave-eyed out at something I can't see. I feel the power in me, steaming through my body, and I rise and rise, though beneath my feet there is still the unforgiving ice. My arms are raised to the sky, palms outward, and then the power ripples through me, streaming out from my hands in undulations of shattered light, streams and curtains of colored light, the light that is my name, my soul. I have a vision of a girl standing here many years hence, with the blond hair of my daughter, and I sense that she is our distant daughter, daughter of generations. The lights stream faster, faster, gathering around me in a brilliant haze, and then we rise because I am the light. And I am not named for La'ana, I am La'ana, and I will dwell in the sky.

I watch my daughter on the ridge of ice, and she watches me back. 

And then I am gone.


	2. The Girl who was Something More

Disclaimer: I do not own dæmons (*sniff*)

Disclaimer: I do not own dæmons (*sniff*). I do not own Lyra, although she is not in this particular chapter/story/written thingamajiggy. Philip Pullman owns both. I own neither the world nor the Edge of the World; the world belongs to (select one) a)all of us, b)God, c)nobody, d)various Gods and Goddesses, or e)none of the above. I do not own Gypsies. They own their selves. However, this particular variation belongs to me, as it is not Philip Pullman's variation and about a million SciFi/fantasy writers have used the same variation anyway. I DO, however, own the following: La'ana, Aurora La'ana, the Goddess La'ana, if a Goddess can be owned, the seer Nexa, Naré and Kela, Arvan, Tavela, Zan, Verya, K'char, La'ana's father, and all sha'leth. Again, many of these can't be owned, as they tend to take on a life of their own. In scientific/theoretical language, (insert name of character/species here) tends to exist. And as slavery is not permitted where I live, and I would not _like_ to own slaves of any species (including animal) in any case, I can't own these people. I do not own George Dubya and his atrocious speeches.

A/N: This is less a chaptered story than a collection of closely related short short stories. As well as a repeated demonstration of my less-than-adeptness at endings. LOL.

***

My name is La'ana, after my mother and the Goddess of Darkness. My mother died before I was one year old; at least I think she died. Though I witnessed it, I have never been sure.

I do not know my father. All I remember of him is a bearded face above mine, the colors unsure to my infant's eyes. I live with two Gypsies, both women, who were friends with the sha'leth who rescued me from the icy expanse of the North, where my mother left me. Sha'leth are shy, small, nearly human but not. They are neither male nor female, and there are very few remaining. This Church thing that is rising into power is bent on destroying them. I am bent on saving them. They have given me the name La'ana Sha'leth, and I am welcome among them, as a daughter, mother, sister all at once. Mostly I am a daughter. I think my name has too many apostrophes, but I am honored to be one of them. They have so many secrets you could lose yourself in the knowledge for lifetimes. Secrets are familiar to me; I am a living one.

My Gypsy mothers are Naré and Kela. Naré is like her use-name, É, sharp like a knife but blunt, tough but an ally who will never betray you. Kela could be called a softer, quieter version of her mate, but Kela is not a version of anything. Kela is herself, and no less. She is a dancer, and É is a drummer. We have a dwelling just outside a small Northern village. Or that is what we call it, dwelling, although I argue that it is not, as we do not dwell there. Kela and Naré's Gypsy blood keep us moving, keep us traveling, and we live as nomads. I am content with this. I am not a girl, I am something more. I may have some Gypsy blood in me, after all.

I have a Sha'leth family, as well. The entire tribe has taken me as kinswoman, daughter, cousin, sister, and mother, but one family in particular has adopted me. Arvan and Tavela, and my siblings, Zan and K'char, are more secretive, less brazen than Naré and Kala, but no less gay. No less whole-hearted. So you see, I am not alone. I am not an orphan.

My third family: blood family. My mother was Aurora La'ana, Light-within-the-Darkness, and she vanished in a cloud of light at the edge of the world. I remember light streaming from her palms into the sky the night she vanished. She rose, and was gone, but the light remained. It is called the Aurora, the Northern Lights. Something changed in the world that night, and although I do not know what it was, I am part of it. I feel it.

My father, as I said, I do not know, and barely remember. 

Tonight is the longest night of the year, La'ana K'lestra, the middle of winter. La'ana's night. Tonight I go to the Edge of the World with the sha'leth seer Nexa. It has told me of a vision it saw, of a raven which is the familiar of La'ana, and how that raven flew from the aurora, covered in light, and lit upon my arm. She told me it spoke to me, and that I must go, tonight, to the place where my mother died. I do not know what this means, but it brings to me a strange sense of something that _must be done_, and so I will go. In any case, Nexa is my friend, and would not lie to me. It reminds me of an old grandmother, wrinkled like a dried apple, and I sometimes forget that _it_ is not _she_. Perhaps, although their bodies are sexless, their souls are not.

A thin layer of snow crunches beneath my boots. It snowed today, rare in this cold Northern desert. My breath is not a cloud, it is nearly solid whiteness. Nexa, next to me, is small and silent. While I am furred and sealskinned and still cold, it is dressed only in a thin, silky cloak the color of night. I am not sure what this fabric is; sha'leth do not disclose all of their secrets, even to those they foster. But neither do I, to anybody, and we fit together closely, each understanding the ways of the other. It is a silent relationship, and a good one.

We are near the Edge. Here, the snow and ice are dotted with dancing light, reflecting the vast aurora above us. Something stirs in me, some memory of my mother, something powerful. Above me, the sky extends outward, outward, outward. The moon is dark, but I can see its outline, near the highest point in the heavens. Some strange feeling- apprehension? excitement? a mixture of both?- is building in me. And then the moon reaches its zenith, and the aurora flickers. Flickers, and out of it flies a raven, glittering with light, large and dark and majestic. It knocks the breath out of me, even as I lift my arm, entranced, and it alights on my wrist. I look into its eyes, and they are my mother's, black, black, black, and dancing with light. And then he hops to the ground, to the ice, and for a moment the world spins.

__

:La'ana.: There is a tiger there.

__

:Verya.:

We are two parts

of one whole

together

and the earth

is mine.


	3. Tigerchild

Disclaimer:

Disclaimer: I own La'ana Sha'leth sh' Verya, in all her incarnations and names, Aurora La'ana, Verya, Nexa, Arvan, Tavela, Zan, K'char, the Goddess La'ana, Kela, Naré, etc., etc., etc. I own all of La'ana Sha'leth sh' Verya's forseen ancestors, save the infamous Lyra Belaqua aka Silvertongue, whom Philip Pullman owns. He also owns his interpretation of Gypsies, as I own mine. I own the sha'leth and any other original organisms La'ana should chance to meet on her journeys, blah blah blah. I do not own anything fur, including Verya's furry baby bonnet, as I do not own the Aurora (aka Roarer) or the world.

A/N: I talked about the moon in my last... installment... of whatever this story-thing is. Can you see the moon from the North Pole? Somebody tell me! Anyhow, I found two sites with interesting pictures from the Arctic on them. Here are two:

[http://www.shunya.net/Pictures/NorthPole/barents-sea-sunset.jpg -][1] North Pole at sunset

http://www.mosquitonet.com/~tasteak/images/animated.html – Animated picture of the Aurora

(I realize that I have not capitalized Aurora in this (these?) story/ies. This is on purpose. Don't ask why, I do not know. I also know that Aurora borealis does not mean Light-within-the-Darkness. At least according to _scientists _and such. Aurora is the Roman goddess of dawn. The Romans stole gods from other religions and changes them. See? THIS story is the truth!)

***

I have too many names. I began as La'ana and nothing more, the girl who watched my mother stream up into the sky at the Edge of the World in a curtain of light and vanish. This was the girl who stood on the icy cliff that is the Edge and was not afraid. Then I became La'ana Sha'leth, sworn to do all I can to save the folk who saved me from the cold where my mother vanished, the shy sha'leth. And now I am La'ana Sha'leth sh' Verya, dæmon-partner of Verya. 

And I thought my name had too many apostrophes _before_ this...

The truth is, I'm not sure where to go from here. The Church is getting stronger, and the number of sha'leth is diminishing as the months pass. I am La'ana Sha'leth sh' Verya, but I am still just a girl. Or perhaps, as I have said, more than a girl, but even if that is true, I am young and powerless. And the Church is hunting me as dæmon-child, as well as heretic, on top of the sha'leth. I am in danger, all I love is in danger, and I still do not know what to do.

Nexa tells me I must go south, south and then east, but other than this I know nothing. Verya is a tiger, golden and black, and I am La'ana, named for the Goddess, but what is this small power against the growing influence of the Church? The thing that keeps me from despairing is my stubbornness. Tiger-like, I will not give up. I refuse to. And no matter what I come up against, I will not abandon my people. I am La'ana Sha'leth.

Verya and I are leaving tomorrow. We don't know where we will find ourselves when our quest is over, nor whom we will be. Spirit is eternal, but mind and body change. And my fear is derived from this. I fear change. Not even my stubbornness can hold the earth in the pattern it is in. My mother may or may not have died when she filled the sky with dancing light, but she changed, and I was left bereft of something. I have Kela and Naré, Arvan, Tavela, Zan, K'char, Verya, but there has always been something missing. I know what it is but I will never have it. There is nothing I can do and nowhere I can go to get this missing thing and for my tiger-self it is too much. And I fear this.

We have packed two bundles with weapons, food, clothing, shelter, water, money. I am filled with the old excitement and apprehension that my mother gave to me. As young as I was then, I remember that journey we took together, to the Edge of the World. I was born into it, into feeling her warm breath against my face and my head against her chest as we rode, sledded, finally walked to the Edge. I remember the fierce cold, everlasting night, and the pervading silence, stillness. The star-speckled sky, and the darkness spreading out around me, veiling everything in mystery. Here, there is one long day and one long night, but I remember the night best. La'ana is Goddess of Night, and I am her daughter, if only in name. And then I remember the sunset: black clouds above me, and a sky in so many shades of orange, blue, yellow. That was at the beginning of our trip, and so the rest passed in darkness. I do not know why we went north, why my mother abandoned my father and took me to the Edge. So much is unexplained. I will never understand her, this woman who gave me life.

__

:It is time.: Verya cuts into my thoughts, his golden, rhythmic tiger thoughts bringing warmth into this coldness. I start. I am afraid. (Was my mother afraid when she came to the Edge? Did she know so much would change?)

We have two packs, both heavy. One is shaped for a human, and one fitted with a bewildering mess of straps and buckles. This is for Verya. A tiger has never worn a pack before, as far as I know, and it took the combined minds of several sha'leth to make one that Verya is able to wear. They could not make one that did not look so startlingly silly on him. I laugh, almost forgetting my nervousness, and have the golden orbs of Verya's eyes turned on me reproachfully. Tigers are prideful, I have learned. They also have an excess of sharp teeth and claws. I hide my grin, thinking of the "shallow" cuts he'd given me in the past few months. To teach me, he said. 

Somehow, he ended up with a furry baby's bonnet tied on his head when he woke up the next morning.

Tavela and Arvan are here, to show me how to secure the pack on Verya's back. I have said my goodbyes already, and we part with only the light handclasp which is the sha'leth version of an embrace. Arvan has given me a staff carved of pine, precious in this barren expanse. Into the handle is set slivers of milk-white agate speckled with blue. They form an angular R-like shape, and I look at him curiously. "Safety in travel" is all he says. And then we leave. I turn and watch them, my heart nearly suffocating, but in the darkness of endless night, they are only shadows in the starlit darkness, and then nothing. All there is to see is the line of footprints, mine large and heavy, Verya's round and light. These, too, recede as we walk further and further into the night and new footprints take the place of old ones. Verya's breath comes out in great, warm clouds, and I nearly weep at this familiar sight. But tigers do not weep, and so I do not.

So much is changing already, and I am afraid.

   [1]: http://www.shunya.net/Pictures/NorthPole/barents-sea-sunset.jpg-



	4. Alethio

Disclaimer:

Disclaimer: I own the Goddesses La'ana and Daléa and the God Shan, unless they exist, Niktaj k' Vé'an y Lata é Sha'vela, Verya, La'ana Sha'leth sh' Verya, Lata, Vé'an, the clan Sha'vela, and this Gods-cursed copy of Windows NT. (Well, actually, American Express owns it, but…) I do not own the world. I do not own Windows. Bill Gates owns that, and he can keep it for all I care! If he just… gives me… a nice little laptop… *looks longing*

A/N: MWAH HA HA HA HAH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

FYI: Ancient Roman measurements are used in this story. A millarium is equal to approx. 0.9927 miles, or 1.598 kilometers. An akt is equal to 0.024 millaria. A decimpeda is 0.08333 akt (I don't know the plural, so I'm using the singular forms of most of these), 10.48 feet, or 3.195 meters. An ounce is 1.048 inches, and a cubit is 1.527 feet. (Hey, blame my SOURCE for these confusing measurements!)

Verya is an Indo-Chinese tiger, _panthera tigris corbetti_, smaller, darker, and with shorter stripes than other tigers. There are only about 1500 left on the planet, and things are not looking good. See http://www.5tigers.org/Basics/Subsp_distribution/ichinese.htm for information.

***

For six days we have been walking. My whole body aches, and even Verya is growing tired. His movements have lost some of that lithe grace that I so endeavor to mirror. In the distance, a smudge of darkness on the ice looks to be a village, and a welcome one at that. I am tired, so tired of this endless travel and doubt. We have traversed perhaps seventy millaria in this time, and I still do not know where we are going. I am hoping for an answer here, in this village we are nearing, but that hope may be too much. And I am worried about Verya; tigers are not meant for this cold and ice and eternal night. You'd think that whatever sent down that bird and gave me Verya would make him able to live in this place, but no. Of course not. Who am I to ask some supernatural source for a "gift" who can actually _survive_ here? 

I dreamt of the sunrise last night. And realized that it will not be long in coming. I am a child of night, and sunlight seems to suck energy from me. It will be one month, two at most, before this happens and then where will we be? Verya, too, is a creature of darkness and unsuited for the blinding whiteness of Northern summers. And where will we be?

__

:La'ana.:

:Verya?: But it is not Verya, I realize, after I have spoken. This is a stranger.

__

:No. Niktaj k' Vé'an y Lata é Sha'vela.: Ah. Sha'leth. Niktaj, born of Vé'an and Lata, of clan Sha'vela. Sha'leth carry near their entire genealogy in their names, although they use only their parents and clan for everyday use. Silly, I think. But I am not sha'leth.

__

:Niktaj? That is not sha'leth, is it? What is your business, friend?:

:No, not sha'leth. An ancient name. I am here because- (here it paused)_- because I am... different. I thought I might be able to help you, if you would accept my company.: _In the way of the sha'leth, it speaks tersely, almost curtly. I find myself trusting it. Sha'leth are my sworn family, after all.

__

:I would gladly welcome your aid, Niktaj k' Vé'an y Lata é Sha'vela.: With my words, a small, thin-faced sha'leth stepped out of thin air, as sha'leth are wont to do, and bowed. 

And so that is how we met the being who would salvage our broken hopes and become the key to our near- impossible task.

***

It said it was different. _That_ was an understatement, if there ever was one. It is nearly as different as I. And nobody, not even through the greatest understatement, could call me normal.

Niktaj. It is called Alethio, Child of Truth, as I am Child of Night. The sha'vela are known (as far as they are known at all) for the remarkable abilities that are inborn into a few children every generation. Alethio. Latin for truth. Niktaj is a truth-finder, one who can find the truth among any number of lies. One who can find the friend among any number of enemies. Even such a number of enemies as I have. 

Without Niktaj, I would have died.

***

We came to the village a sevenday later. It would have been earlier, if I had not taken sick the day before. Seventy millaria is not an easy distance, especially on humans. I woke up feverish one morning, and had Niktaj not realized this and made me rest in our tent-shelter, wrapped up in blankets, I would have been much, much worse. As it was, I could not travel for five days and only slowly on the sixth. It was late that evening when we reached the village, and so were not seen until the morning of the seventh day after I became fevered. 

Trust my words when I tell you that it is not pleasant by far to wake up to a crowd of children and a simple-minded adult or two crowding around ones tent. Trust my words when I say that it is more than a little vexing to be followed around for the rest of the day by those self-same children, for no reason one is able to discern. Above all, trust me-_ trust_ me- when I say that being treated as if one is some manner of mythical _goddess_ come to save the town is pure torture. Now, I do not know your conditions, but I for one am not a goddess of any type or form. I cannot produce _sirramilk_ and wafers from thin air. For Daléa's sake, I cannot even produce dry bread and dirty water out of _thick_ air, and am not, not, emphatically _not_ ready to pretend to be able to! Shan's bones, I couldn't even get a word out of those lily-livered little things! They whispered something about some sort of myth and ran away. La'ana! Talk about _annoying…_

Needless to say, we spent less than a day at _that_ village. And then we went on…

Daléa, if only I had known that this was going to be the _least_ of the maddening events that would follow…


End file.
